The first part of the evening was pleasant enough, though the manners of some of the guests were, to say the least of it, curious. Many had never been fifty miles from Kiakhta in their lives, so were to be pardoned, though it did not make their behaviour any the less unpleasant to their neighbours. The women, poor things, noticed this, and kept apologizing for the behaviour of their male relatives. We took leave of them at about two o’clock, on the plea that we should have to be leaving early. I noticed at the time a covert smile pass over the face of the postmaster, but attributed no importance to it, and sought my hard couch with a feeling of relief that to-morrow would see us fairly off for Irkoutsk.
The horses were to be in by nine, we were told, but we waited till eleven o’clock, without a sign of their arrival. Losing all patience, I walked up to the post-master’s, and found him still sleeping off the effects of the night’s debauch on two chairs. I knew that the slightest show of temper would only have made matters worse, so waking him as gently as I could, asked politely why the horses had not arrived. For some minutes his fuddled brains could not grasp my meaning, till a sudden light burst on him: “Ah, to be sure, the horses. Alas! my friend, there are none for you: besides, you cannot go to-day. After you had left, our mutual friend Cherkoff commissioned me to ask you to breakfast with him at the barracks, and I took upon myself to accept for you, and gave your ‘Troika’ to some one else. There is no hurry. You shall go to-night. In the meantime I will dress, and we will go up to the barracks together. It is already past twelve.”
I could have shaken the little wretch with vexation. While he was dressing, however (an operation that consisted of putting on his boots and coat), I came to the conclusion that it was better to appear pleased, a Russian post-master being as omnipotent in his small way as the veriest African tyrant. I was beginning to think that Siberian travel is not unlike African. The difficulty is not so much getting to a place as getting away from it!
The barracks contained two or three hundred men, a company of Cossacks under the command of Cherkoff, who, like all captains of the Russian army, had obtained his brevet colonelcy on crossing the Ourals into Siberia. The garrison of Kiakhta is over eight hundred strong, but this is mostly made up of militia. Several of the men were standing about the barrack-yard as we entered, broad, swarthy, sunburnt fellows in white linen uniforms, who looked fit to go through anything, but had not a trace of smartness about them.
On arrival at the barracks we were ushered into a large, bare, whitewashed room crowded with people, who had apparently just risen from a table covered with the usual salt fish and other thirst-producing comestibles. One could hardly see across the room for cigarette-smoke. Nor did it take us long to discover that most of the party, some twenty in number, had already breakfasted not wisely but too well. All our old friends were there. The ladies (in low dresses) had wisely retired into an inner apartment, where they sat alone. “You are late,” said Professor R————, “but will not miss anything, unless you care for salt fish. This is a true Siberian breakfast,” he added, with a smile at our astonishment.
Never shall I forget that afternoon. The place reeked with the fumes of tobacco and spirits, mingled with a sickening smell of fish. Though barely three o’clock in the afternoon, half the men were intoxicated, alternately singing, fighting, and drinking. Cherkoff, I am bound to say, looked ashamed of his guests, as well he might. The bright sun streaming in on their drink-heated faces and disordered dress was not a pretty spectacle. Little Madame B————, a native of Moscow, confided to me, with tears in her eyes, what a dog’s life it was for a woman. I sincerely pitied her. It seemed hard that one of her refined taste and ideas should be condemned to live in such a human Zoological Garden.
The tarantass arrived about four o’clock, much to our relief, and we commenced to take leave of our hosts. I say commenced, for the operation lasted quite three-quarters of an hour, we having to drink a glass of vodka separately with each man.
This ordeal over, we descended on either side of Cherkoff, the entire party following, to the barrack-square, where the whole company of Cossacks was drawn up in line. Upon our appearance all struck up a hymn which, upon any other occasion, I could have listened to with pleasure, but which, now that I felt it made another hour of delay, bored me beyond measure. The song finished, a sergeant approached us, bearing in each hand a huge tumbler of vodka. “One of you must drink it off,” whispered our guide, philosopher, and friend, Herr R————. “This is considered a great honour.” Handing me one glass, the captain took another, and facing me in front of his men, cried out, “À la Reine d’Angleterre!” to which I replied, “À l’Empereur de Russie!” tossing off at the same time the whole of the vodka at a gulp. It was like liquid fire! but I was not allowed much time for thought, for in a second, at a sign from Cherkoff, the Cossacks had seized Lancaster and myself, and sent us whirling ten feet into the air, catching us again in their hands and arms as we alighted. Once, twice, three times I was sent up; and then, giddy and out of breath, we returned to the balcony. By this time, what with the shouting, the tossing, and the vodka, I hardly knew whether I was on my head or my heels! A dance among the men followed this performance, a dance favourite with the Cossacks, accompanied on a kind of tom-tom, with much shouting and clapping of hands. Having watched this for a few moments we first quietly took leave of R., then bidding good-bye to Cherkoff (whom we left dancing with his men), we jumped into the carriage while the remainder of the guests were looking the other way. But they were too quick for us, for just as we were moving off, two of them caught sight of the tarantass, and, dashing through the crowd, leapt in, to accompany us, Siberian fashion, to the outskirts of the town. One of them had concealed a bottle of vodka, which he produced when we reached the town-gates, and insisted on our drinking with him and his friend. But we were firm, and they very drunk, so we soon managed to give them the slip. They were sitting in the road, the last we saw of them, embracing each other, the empty vodka bottle beside them.
OUR TARANTASS WITH “TROIKA.”